


Hic Vir Teneo Et Amo

by Fledhyris



Series: Bound Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Caring Sam Winchester, Collared Dean Winchester, Collars, Dean Winchester's Birthday, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Season/Series 11, Shower Sex, Timestamp, no s&m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28966674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Happy birthday, Dean Winchester! XThis work is a timestamp, set quite far in the future of my Bound!verse series which begins with "Naga" just after season 7. I know it seems like I’m tackling the story from both ends and ignoring the middle, but don’t worry, I have every intention of getting to it! Meanwhile, I’ve had this on my mind for over a year now. I wanted to post something to celebrate Dean’s birthday - and to show that there will be good times after all the angst and pain I have in store. Previous works might help provide a little context, but you don't need to read them to understand this one. Like the tags say, it's just Sam and Dean enjoying Dean's birthday together in the bunker, with lots of fluff and sex and just a little bit of bondage.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Bound Verse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350982
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	Hic Vir Teneo Et Amo

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Early season 11, probably between 11:12 ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ and 11:13 ‘Love Hurts’ which was set around Valentine’s Day. So Lucifer has already been released from the Cage by Castiel, though so far unknown to the Winchesters. (He doesn't make an appearance here.)
> 
> There is some Latin in this story, which Sam has written himself. While easy enough to translate from original sources, putting something you want to say into an ancient, dead language is tricky. For goodness’ sake don’t throw the whole thing into Google Translate out of curiosity, because it will not cope! Thank you to moth2fic and candygramme for their knowledgeable help. Any remaining inaccuracies should be put down to Sam’s command of Latin having more to do with exorcism rituals than poetic composition.
> 
> If you enjoy the story, please consider leaving kudos to let me know! All likes and (kind) comments will absolutely make my day, thank you so much! :)

Dean woke up, yawned and made an abortive stretch; one hand was still fettered to the bolt in the headboard. Handcuffs, the open end swinging with a soft scratching sound against the wood as he tugged experimentally. Usually they used a length of silk which he could easily unknot, but last night had been different, a little more… intense. 

Problem was, he needed to pee, and there was nothing he could use to unpick the cuffs. That meant he’d have to wake Sam, who was a lump under the blankets beside him, dead to the world. Well, if Sammy wanted to leave him cuffed to the bed all night, this was the price he’d have to pay. He could always roll over and go back to sleep after he’d unlocked him.

Dean shook his brother unceremoniously. “Sam.” No response. “Sam!” he said, a little louder. How anyone who called himself a hunter could sleep so soundly, he had no idea, but clearly they needed to work on his survival instincts. Serve him right if Dean peed all over him. 

“Sam, look out, vampire at six o’ clock!” he roared, at the same time giving him a hard shove to the shoulder.

Sam jerked and flailed his long arms, making unintelligible noises of sleepy protest and then alarm as Dean’s words penetrated through his sleep fogged brain. 

“Wha..? Dean!” He jerked upright, scanning the room, then narrowed his eyes to stare accusingly. “Did you just wake me up by crying wolf?” he asked.

Dean gave him his toothiest, ingratiating smile. “Sorry, dude. I’m all tied up,” he jerked on the cuffs, “and I really need to pee.”

“You couldn’t just shake me awake like a normal person?” Sam grumbled, as he turned and rummaged through the drawer of the bedside cabinet for the key.

Dean shrugged. “Tried that first; you are one hell of a sleeper, Sammy. It’s a good thing there weren’t really any vampires, we’d have been toast.”

Sam snorted as the lock snicked and the metal cuff around Dean’s wrist sprang open. “The bunker is warded against pretty much everything we’ve ever hunted,” he pointed out. “It’s the one place I can sleep soundly, so sue me if I take advantage. Besides, I was pretty tired. Last night was…”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed softly as he rose and stretched, massaging the residual soreness in his wrist and shoulder from being held out over his head all night. He was sore in other places, too; a good feeling, that deep ache and burning tingle that would remind him throughout the day, every time he moved, of how thoroughly he’d been fucked. 

Of how much he was wanted; loved; possessed. Dean smiled to himself and padded off to the bathroom. 

After taking care of business, he felt fully awake, and the evidence of last night was all over him, itching and funky. Sam hadn’t told him to come back to bed, so he decided he’d take a shower, then see about making breakfast.

His brother was not long behind him after all, stepping into the shower stall just as Dean was rinsing off the last of the soap. Coming up close behind him, Sam wrapped him in his arms and splayed his hands across Dean’s breastbone, pulling and pinning him back against his own broad chest. Dean leaned back, resting his head against Sam’s shoulder, eyes closed against the pelting spray of the bunker’s truly magnificent water pressure.

Sam’s lips nuzzled at his ear and the soft skin just beneath, as Dean tilted his head to expose his neck. Hands stroked over Dean’s chest a few times then trailed up over his arms, through the glistening streams of water to his shoulders, massaging them before moving up to his throat. Fingers slipped under the leather collar and tugged gently, and Dean responded to the familiar direction, turning his face up to be kissed.

“Happy birthday,” Sam murmured when he finally drew back, but his fingers stayed inside the collar, stroking, his hands neatly encircling Dean’s throat. He squeezed with the gentlest of pressure, just enough to feel the fluttering of Dean’s pulse, the pad of each fingertip electric-hot against his skin. 

Dean groaned quietly - at the sensation of Sam’s hands, the loss of his mouth, and the belated reminder of the date, wondering what Sammy had in store for him today. Of course, that was why they had made such a fun night of it, celebrating in advance.

Dean canted his hips, pressing back against the sizable erection poking into the small of his back. “You gonna give me my present now?” he breathed.

Sam chuckled and nipped under his ear. “I’ll give you something,” he said, low and throaty, the raw desire in his tone pulsing straight to Dean’s dick, “but it’s not your present. That’s for later.”

“Ooh, two presents? Lucky me,” Dean joked, squirming back into Sam’s embrace. His brother’s arms surrounded him, over the top of his own, holding him firmly so that he couldn’t move without struggling. Pinning him, close and tight against his chest. He loved it, the security and the control; being positioned, manhandled, however Sam wanted him. He could fight back, of course; but he never would, and they both knew it. 

Sam huffed soft laughter into Dean’s ear then slid one hand free. He stroked his way slowly down his brother’s chest with maddening slowness, just brushing him with his fingertips. He skimmed his pec and the nipple on one side, giving it a seductive tweak in passing, then down over the ribs, leaving a trail of heat along his skin. He flattened his hand when it reached Dean’s stomach, rubbing gently, pulling him back as he continued to hold him. 

His other arm wrapped around both of Dean’s, the hand curled into and holding his collar. The hand on Dean’s belly wandered lower, fingers dancing through the damp curls at his crotch, and Dean shivered as they encountered his hard-on and tapped with tiny, butterfly kisses over the leaking head of his cock.

“Hold still for me,” Sam whispered and then licked right into Dean’s ear, his tongue hot and moist, and his fingers closed around the base of his cock, squeezing just the perfect amount. 

Dean groaned and panted, trying his best to obey although his body almost vibrated with the need to grind back into Sam’s firm, muscular flesh.

“Gonna make this so good for you,” Sam purred, “gonna have you writhing on my fingers until you’re begging for my cock…” He must have felt the pulse that jumped in Dean’s dick at that promise, and clamped down, his fingers hard and hot, restraining his body’s need. 

“Not yet sweetheart,” Sam murmured, “not until I’ve had my way. I want to stretch you open, fuck up into you. Fill you with my fingers and feel you shake apart in my hands…”

A very unmanly whimpering sound escaped Dean’s lips and he clenched his jaw as his cock throbbed in Sam’s vice-like grip. This was a fantastic way to wake up and no mistake, but he wasn’t sure he could last with the intensity of his morning wood, even if Sam was taking care to hold him back.

Sam continued to hold him, squeezing every now and again, securing Dean with one arm around his hips as the other released and trailed down his back in the same way he had caressed his chest and abs. 

He slid that hand in between Dean’s buttocks where they pressed against Sam’s thigh, spreading his cheeks and holding them open against his own body. He stroked with two fingers right into the crack, pressing against his rim and massaging. 

Dean was going weak at the knees and struggling to stay upright; he straddled his legs, planting his feet wide for balance, and moaned again as the movement pushed him against the blunt fingers up in his ass.

“That’s right,” Sam whispered, “spread for me; open up so I can get right inside…” He twisted his hand deftly so that he circled Dean’s cock with only one finger and his thumb, the other fingers stretching to fold around his balls, as he rubbed the fingers of the other hand over and around Dean’s hole. 

It made Dean whine and shudder and bite his lip with the concentration of holding still, of not bucking his hips up and back into the twin points of pleasure that were shorting out his brain.

Sam chuckled and held him like that until Dean almost passed out, squeezing and stroking and holding him spread open, exposed and wanting under the blood-warm spray of the shower. All the while nibbling and sucking on his neck and ear and the line of his jaw, telling him how good and hot he was. 

When Dean wasn’t sure he could stand it any more and was about to start begging, Sam moved his hand away from his ass. Dean made a wordless sound of complaint but Sam soothed him, nuzzling at his neck. 

“It’s okay baby, I’m just getting the lube,” he murmured. “Bear with me; s’tricky with one hand. You’re doing so good, hold still now; there,” and Dean felt his fingers return, slippery and cool as he pushed them right in, twisting and crooking them around to hunt out his prostate. 

The burn of entry was overwhelmed immediately with other sensations, the hot jag of pleasure each time Sam’s finger found its target, the fill and stretch of his ass that wasn’t anywhere near enough. He didn’t know how many fingers Sam had up in him, but what he wanted was his cock.

“Sam,” he panted, pushing back, “enough teasing, need more; need it now.”

“Impatient,” Sam chuckled, shoving his fingers in hard at the same time he pulled roughly on Dean’s cock, making him moan again and stagger in place. 

“We’re not actually having sex in the shower, Dean,” he went on, making Dean frown and bite his lip in disappointment. “That’s a recipe for disaster and I want this to be good; want to make you feel good. It’s your birthday. Just let me take care of you, let me get you off while I whisper filthy thoughts in your ear; you can imagine the rest and beg for your favourite parts later, when we’re back in bed.”

Dean obediently subsided and gave himself over to the pleasure as Sam jerked him and finger-fucked his hole. He murmured pornographic adoration into Dean’s ear in between nips and kisses to his earlobe and the side of his jaw. Dean leaned his head back, tilting it as much as he could and thinking to himself that the one drawback to the collar was that it covered his throat, so Sam couldn’t bite him there.

As Dean lost the ability to hold himself steady, Sam drew him back so that he could lean against the wall of the shower, bracing himself with one leg and nudging the other between Dean’s thighs to hold him up and open. He was spread eagled against Sam’s broad thigh and torso, completely at his mercy as the warm water pummelled his skin. 

Sam, true to his word, didn’t tease. He made it as good for Dean as fingers alone could manage, pulling and thrusting in a well-honed rhythm until Dean was shaking and gasping, clenching around his brother’s hand. He arched, giving a loud groan as he came, shooting high up onto the opposite wall of the shower.

“That’s it, oh that’s good; I should make you lick that up,” Sam smiled against Dean’s ear and Dean shivered and moaned as the aftershocks spiked through him. He’d do it, if Sam wanted him to; he’d do anything for Sam, especially after an orgasm as good as that one; but what he really wanted was to turn around and return the favour.

After catching his breath and feeling his feet steady against the non-slip indentations in the tiled floor, Dean wriggled experimentally, and Sam let go his loose hold on Dean’s softening cock and slipped his fingers out of his ass with a squelch. 

Dean lost no time in twisting to face his brother and bent his knees in preparation to kneel, but Sam caught him by the elbows, seeming to read his mind.

Dean made an incoherent sound of protest and Sam smiled and ducked his head to catch Dean’s lips in a forceful kiss.

“Your birthday,” he murmured when he finally pulled free. “You don’t have to-”

“Want to,” Dean growled, interrupting. “Can’t have a good birthday without tasting your cock, now can I?”

Sam huffed a short laugh and ran his fingers through Dean’s hair - the left hand, which had been wrapped around Dean’s cock, not the ones shoved up his ass. Sam was careful and considerate about things like that, even in the throes of orgasm, not that Dean would have cared much.

“Okay, greedy,” Sam answered, low and turned on, “but just let me - wait there a moment…”

He stepped to the folding door of the shower stall and leaned out, snagged a towel which he brought back inside and folded, laying it down on the tiles. “Not the nicest place to kneel down,” he smiled, “especially with the way your knees have been aching lately. Gotta let me take care of you if you insist on being owned.”

Dean rolled his eyes but secretly felt a rush of affection for his adorkable little brother, who had to be the softest of Doms. It was fine; Dean wasn’t doing this for discipline, or even for the kinky sex - although he certainly wouldn’t complain about whatever kinks Sam was happy to go along with. To begin with, he hadn’t even been doing it for sex at all. 

The important thing was that Sam was in charge, was looking out for him, was in control. If Sam wanted to use his free access ticket to take care of Dean, to make sure he was comfortable at every step, then that was his prerogative; and Dean had to admit it felt good, knowing he was so cherished. 

He wouldn’t have objected to a little rough manhandling either, but he didn’t really hanker after it enough to push his brother’s limits. What they had now, after several years of slowly working together to define this peculiar relationship, was good.

Sam tapped him across the lips with an admonitory finger. “Stop thinking,” he grinned, “kneel down and start sucking.” Had to give him that; once he got with the program, Sammy didn’t dither about, he stepped up to the task he had accepted for Dean’s sake; and Dean’s sated cock twitched at the command as he moved quickly to comply.

Sam was magnificent, thick and erect and glistening under the stream of water, and Dean salivated at the thought of getting all that hard, hot flesh into his mouth, thrusting down the back of his throat. 

They’d had to work on that for a long time, the choking sensation reminding him of the spike on the Naga’s collar, and Sam would have called it off in his concern; but Dean had insisted, he wanted this. 

It was another way to push himself and stretch his limits, to conquer the irrational fear his imprisonment had left like a stain on his self-control. He also wanted Sam, as much as his brother would give him, and that was a flame that only burned hotter the longer they experimented. 

Now, finally, he loved doing this, thrilled at his ability to take Sam in, big as he was, and milk his brother’s satisfaction from him without flinching.

So Dean knelt on the soaking pad of the towel and closed his eyes against the spray, sucking Sam down until he writhed and moaned, greedily swallowing the pulsing flesh. He had to shield his face with his hands, otherwise the pelting water made him sputter and choke, so he couldn’t make it as good for Sam as he would have liked. He was unable to massage his brother’s balls and ass as he usually did, but Sam seemed enthusiastic enough.

“Ohh, Dean,” he moaned, one hand in Dean’s hair, bracing himself against the wall with the other. “You’re so good, that feels amazing - yeah, just like that! - take me in deep, such a good boy, fuck…”

At last Sam came in thick, salt spurts down Dean’s throat. He swallowed it all then let up a little to ease his throat, but continued to suckle and slurp on Sam’s cock until Sam winced and twitched it out of Dean’s mouth.

“Getting sensitive,” he murmured apologetically, “but that was good, Dean; very good. You’re fantastic at that now.” 

Dean grinned up at his brother as Sam smiled down at him, stroking his hair. He basked as Sam’s praise washed over him, enveloping him in feelings of accomplishment, pride, satisfaction; love. He was Sam’s, and he was good for Sam; they were both glowing from incredible orgasms, and all was right with his world.

Dean’s stomach rumbled and he added one more thing that would make a perfect start to the day.

“Should get going to work on breakfast,” he suggested, still kneeling and trying not to be too obvious as he pressed his head against Sam’s fingers in his hair, chasing the sensation.

“Yeah, just a moment; lemme get cleaned up here first,” Sam told him. “You get out and get dry though, you’re too much of a distraction,” he smirked.

Sam made short work of showering himself while Dean towelled himself and stretched, enjoying the pull of pleasantly used muscles, the slight burn in his throat, knees and ass. He loved the feeling, of having been used and enjoyed, of proving his worth. He turned to see about cleaning up his mess from the shower, but Sam had already taken care of it, angling the shower head to hose down the wall. Dean pouted slightly.

“That’s my job,” he complained, folding his arms and giving Sam a stern look.

“No,” Sam replied equably, “your job is to stand there looking gorgeous while I get dressed.”

Dean grinned. “You’re the boss,” he said, his conscience cleared, and he concentrated on holding himself on display, hands clasped behind his back and legs at ease, presenting himself to the best advantage for Sam to admire while he pulled on underwear, jeans and shirts. 

Sam took his time about it, his gaze roving up and down Dean’s body while he licked his lips and his eyes grew dark with appreciation. Dean’s cock enjoyed the attention too, firming up again to bob at half-mast between his thighs, a pearl of pre-come beading at the tip.

Sam groaned and tore his gaze away. “Like I said,” he growled, “you’re distracting. I’ll have to let you get dressed, but I really wanted to keep you on display today. Keep you in your birthday suit,” and he grinned over at Dean, dimples flashing.

“Kinky,” Dean smirked back, and wiggled his hips just a little. “Guessing you don’t have much planned for the day besides fucking me senseless, then?”

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam exclaimed, striding over and bearing down on him to grind their lips together as his hand sought his crotch, palming Dean’s dick roughly until Dean groaned and pressed forward into the heat of Sam’s hand.

“Already? I should cage that,” Sam growled, squeezing him at the rapidly hardening root. “Would you like that, Dean? Want me to keep you standing around for me all day, in nothing but your collar and a cock cage?”

“Oh God, Sam…” Dean breathed, screwing his eyes closed as he shuddered with arousal.

“No,” Sam decided, kissing him again and giving his cock a light smack before withdrawing his hand. “I prefer seeing you hard for me, like knowing how much you’re wanting. And if I actually could see it, all the time, we’d never get anything done. So you’re going to be a good boy for me and put on some sweatpants at least, and then you’re going to leave it alone; no touching without my say-so. Think you can manage that for the rest of today?” 

He stroked his thumb over Dean’s lower lip, dragging it down a little to wet the pad on the spit-slick inside, his eyes dark and earnest as he looked into Dean’s.

Dean stared back and swallowed, feeling the flush of arousal fire up from his belly to his cheeks. Sam wasn’t the most adventurous sexual partner Dean had ever had, but he had a couple of kinks - didn’t everyone? - and Dean had discovered that one of them was orgasm denial. Not just for Dean, but for himself, which maybe explained a lot about their time on the road all those years, before they’d taken this step in their relationship. It wasn’t particularly something Dean was into, but pleasing his brother was - and he was definitely on board with pushing his own limits.

So he nodded, but ducked his head forward a little to pull the end of Sam’s thumb into his mouth so he could nibble on it, while looking up at him under his eyelashes in what he’d learned was a sure-fire way to get Sam’s blood pumping.

It was the turn of Sam’s cheeks to flush then, and his eyes went almost black as the pupils expanded. He gasped and put his free hand to Dean’s cheek for a moment, standing there with his own mouth hanging open, then his jaw firmed and he pulled back with a rueful grin.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “distracting, just like that. You kill me, Dean. But this isn’t doing anything about breakfast. C’mon, kitchen - now, before I change my mind.”

Dean shrugged slightly to himself and followed Sam out of the bathroom. “Wait a minute,” he said, as various pleasurable scenarios flitted through his mind and he suddenly caught up with the logistics. “Do we even have a cock cage..?”

Sam turned to him and leered, waggling his eyebrows, but said nothing. Huh. Well, Dean wouldn’t put it past the kinky bastard to have bought one online, but just getting him wondering about it was probably all part of Sam’s diabolical plan. It was going to be an interesting day!

With a detour to their room to grab a clean pair of sweats for Dean (no underwear though), they made it to the kitchen, where Sam told Dean to wait and ducked back out again. Dean stood there obediently, wondering what was going on, but Sam soon returned with the kneeler he had snagged from the library, the thick pad they used to protect Dean’s knees from all the time he spent on the floor at Sam’s feet. He dropped it on the floor beside the table and commanded Dean, “Down.”

Dean frowned. “Can’t cook breakfast while I’m kneeling, Sammy,” he protested.

Sam gave him a mingled look of patience, amusement and affection. “It’s your birthday,” he said again, as though repeating this undeniable fact was supposed to make Dean think differently about anything. “I’m not letting you cook. You can take a break for just one day.”

“But I always cook for us!” Dean wasn’t whining, just being stubborn; it was his job to look after Sam!

“Not today you’re not,” Sam insisted, equally stubborn. “I want to do this, Dean; let me have this, okay?”

“What am I supposed to do while you’re busy,” Dean argued, “just sit around looking pretty?”

Sam’s dimples flashed. “That’s exactly what you’re gonna do,” he said approvingly. “You’re going to kneel there so I have something good to look at every time I turn around, and you’re going to wait patiently,” he double-emphasised the word with a raised eyebrow, “like a good boy. Then maybe I’ll let you do the washing up afterwards. Naked except for an apron, with your ass hanging out so I can ogle it.”

Dean licked his lips, approving of this idea, but; “Could ogle my ass while I cooked, too,” he pointed out reasonably.

“I could,” Sam agreed, “but even in an apron, there’s way too much naked skin to be handling a pan of hot fat. Wouldn’t want anything getting blistered.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam was always so careful, overdid it in Dean’s opinion; he knew he himself had a tendency to mother-hen, but he had nothing on Sam’s caution. Then again, Sam had been like this ever since Dean had been stuck helpless in the Naga collar for months, landing his little brother with a truly terrifying responsibility. He supposed he couldn’t blame him.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded. “But make sure you fry the bacon extra crispy, you know, ‘cause it’s my birthday and all…”

Sam levelled him a look that said his tolerance would only stretch so far. “Yes Dean, I might not eat it but I do know how to cook bacon, thank you. Now go and kneel down before I decide to feed you oatmeal instead.”

“Yessir,” Dean said with alacrity, plonking himself down on the pad. “Shutting up and kneeling down, sir!”

Sam grinned. “You are one pushy sub, do you know that?” he said, fondly. “You’re just lucky you have me in charge.”

“Wouldn’t be doing it for anyone else,” Dean answered promptly.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said softly. “Now, spread your knees a little wider - that’s it - and put your hands behind your back. I’d like to tie your wrists, if that’s okay?”

He always asked, even though it was pointless, Dean would never refuse. He swallowed, feeling that special rush of affection and arousal that being tied up by his brother conjured. He was acutely aware of his dick, the head rubbing against the fabric of his sweatpants, where it was going to leave a damp clue to his excitement before very long. Doubtless that was Sam’s intention in ordering him to go commando.

“Always okay Sammy,” he murmured, ducking his head to hide his sudden blush, and the flood of emotion he knew must show in his eyes.

Sam busied himself trapping Dean’s wrists at the small of his back in the leather cuff restraint he had evidently brought along with the kneeler, then rested his hand atop Dean’s head in a motionless caress. 

After a moment, he slid his hand down along the side of Dean’s face and hooked his fingers into his collar, bringing his other hand up to do the same on the opposite side. Dean looked up at him on automatic pilot and Sam bent down to claim his mouth in a tender kiss.

“That’s my good boy,” he smiled as he pulled back and stood straight again, nodding down in approval at Dean’s cock, which had firmed up with interest at the kiss. “Think dirty thoughts for me and see if you can keep that up while I cook, and maybe there’ll be a little reward in it after we’ve eaten.”

Sam then busied himself at the stove, frying up bacon, eggs and some leftover potatoes from yesterday’s dinner.

“There should still be some waffle mix in the fridge,” Dean offered hopefully from the sidelines. “Or I can make more…”

“No cooking!” Sam said sternly, turning to level Dean with a softened glare, but he did go over to check the fridge, returning to the stove with the saran-wrapped jug of waffle batter, a bowl of blueberries and a can of whipped cream.

As he prepared the meal, Sam kept looking over his shoulder, throwing Dean admiring glances which had him automatically straightening his back and pushing out his chest. 

“You keeping your mind on thoughts of what I’ll be doing to you later?” Sam growled at one point, his voice deliberately rough and low. “You can tell me any ideas you have; today is just for enjoying ourselves, no work. We’ve the whole day ahead and all kinds of ways to fill it. And,” he turned abruptly to pin Dean with a heated gaze, “I want to work on your stamina, because you’re not too good at holding off, are you? It’s all about the immediate reward with you, but I think you’ll like waiting. The end payoff is pretty spectacular.”

He looked pointedly at Dean’s crotch, and little Dean twitched where it stood to attention, tenting his pants. That tugged an answering grin from Sam’s lips and an admonitory waggle of the spatula he was holding.

Sam obviously had the bit between his teeth about this, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. On the one hand, it promised Sam’s undivided attention for the day, which was awesome; and if he was to be believed, at least one more really good orgasm to look forward to. On the other hand, having to wait the whole day..? On his birthday? Was Sam serious? 

But at the end of the day, Dean reflected, he wasn’t in this for his own gratification, or at least not in that sense. Sex - or, apparently, not-sex - with Sammy was a very welcome and relatively new bonus to their arrangement, but the really important part was this, right here. Doing as he was told, giving himself over to Sam and using that focus, that trust and sense of purpose, to channel away all the negative emotions which tended to build up and send him careening off the tracks. 

Dean was Sam’s number one stone, ever since his post-Cage hallucinatory breakdown, but Sam was also Dean’s - his rock and his anchor. Whatever Sam asked him to do, Dean would do it, and thereby achieve peace. It was all very Zen, with a bondage twist, but it worked; when he remembered why he was doing it in the first place.

Considering this, Dean finally relaxed, giving himself over to whatever Sam had in store for him, and he felt the sense of calm wrap around him like a warm blanket as his muscles uncoiled from their almost permanent state of readiness. 

Sam looked over and must have noticed the difference, because he nodded approvingly and gave Dean a small, encouraging smile. 

“Good, Dean,” he murmured. “Nearly done here, and then we can eat. And I’ve plans for that, too, so it’s good you’re settling; less arguing means more fun!”

Sam got them both coffee and then plated up the breakfast, pouring syrup and adding fruit to both sets of waffles, but the whipped cream went only on the plate with the bacon. Sam set his own plate at one end of the table, but instead of placing Dean’s at the opposite end, by the second chair, he placed it on the long edge, above Dean’s head where he knelt on the floor. Dean also noticed that Sam only put out one set of cutlery, beside his own plate. What was going on..?

Sam sat down, but didn’t immediately pick up the knife and fork. He watched Dean closely, and Dean, now fully engaged in following Sam’s instructions, stayed in position. This meant he was facing Sam, but not his own breakfast.

“Good boy,” Sam praised him again, and picked up his cutlery. He cut into his eggs and took a big mouthful, still watching Dean; a little yolk dribbled out at the side of his mouth and Dean tracked it, thinking of licking up the mess.

“You hungry?” Sam asked, possibly mistaking the reason for Dean’s tongue to be poking out and tracing his lips. Dean switched his gaze to Sam’s eyes, dragging his attention back to food and eating; just knowing that Sam had plans for him was distracting, despite being hungry.

“Sure; yeah,” he nodded and cleared his throat, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears. “Just waiting for you to release my hands and give the order.”

“Not gonna happen, not today,” Sam responded. He reached over to cut up something on Dean’s plate while Dean watched him, curious but not resentful, then held the fork out, proffering a mouthful of bacon just an inch from Dean’s lips.

Dean blinked and reflexively wiggled his hands in their restraints. So that’s what he was up to! 

“Shouldn’t it be me who has the feeder kink out of the two of us?” He couldn’t help joking, thrown off a little by this new development, but Sam took his snark in stride as usual.

“Are you just gonna sit there and sass me, or are you going to shut up and eat your bacon before it gets cold?” his brother asked calmly, and Dean shrugged slightly and leaned forward a little, parting his lips to slide the food off the fork.

He chewed, his eyes on Sam’s as they dilated and darkened, and “Good boy,” Sam said for a third time. As always the praise, casual but sincere, made Dean’s insides wag like a puppy’s tail, and his dick saluted like a soldier on parade.

After he’d swallowed, he opened his mouth up like a baby bird in expectation of another forkful. Sam smiled his approval and cut Dean a bite of waffle, sweet and tart and creamy all at once, before serving himself another helping of eggs from his own plate.

They went on like that for the rest of breakfast, Sam helping first himself and then Dean to mouthful after mouthful, holding Dean’s mug of coffee for him to sip from at intervals. 

It was strange, maybe one of the strangest things they’d ever done - if you ignored the whole situation of their weird bondage-incest relationship in the first place - and it made Dean feel oddly vulnerable. At no point in his life had he ever had to be spoon fed, even when wearing the Naga collar, but this wasn’t about being an invalid. 

It was about pleasing Sam, about giving in to the pleasure he got from handing over the reins; and Sam, from his expression and murmured praise, was clearly getting off on this. Big control freak, Dean thought affectionately. Long as Sam didn’t want to start coddling him like a baby; that was a kink he would definitely put his foot down over!

As they came to the last few bites of food, Sam put down the fork and used his fingers, swiping a piece of waffle through the syrup that had dribbled onto the plate. 

Dean, thoroughly relaxed by this point and well into that almost dream-like, floaty headspace that followed when he surrendered all control, didn’t so much as blink when his next mouthful arrived on fingers instead of metal prongs. He slid his mouth around the digits exactly as he had been doing with the fork, but the hitch of Sam’s breath told him that this was a little different, after all. 

Instead of pulling away as soon as the waffle was inside his mouth, Dean lingered, sucking lightly. Holding the bite of food in his cheek so that he wouldn’t choke, he worked his tongue over and around the fingers, cleaning away the last traces of sticky sweetness. 

When he couldn’t taste the syrup anymore, he drew back slowly, tickling along the length of Sam’s index finger with his tongue tip until it popped free of his mouth. Dean sat back on his heels and chewed and swallowed the waiting waffle quickly, watching Sam’s face.

Sam’s hand hovered between them and his eyes were riveted on Dean’s mouth. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth hung open and his eyes promised sin. He sat like that, mesmerised, for a few moments after Dean had swallowed, then shook himself and blinked.

“Good,” he swallowed convulsively and tried again. “Good boy,” he said, his voice husky with desire. He drew his hand back and picked up another morsel of waffle. “You like that?” he asked, but it was more a statement than a question.

“I like what you like,” Dean replied, softly, and Sam smiled and offered his fingers again. Dean polished off the last couple of mouthfuls and then Sam wiped up the last of the syrup with nothing but his fingers and offered them for Dean to clean, which he did with relish, holding them in his mouth for longer and finally relinquishing them with a sigh of regret.

“Dean…” Sam breathed, and hitched uncomfortably in his chair, before reaching out to take hold of Dean’s collar in both hands. “What you do to me…”

“Rethinking your position on orgasm denial?” Dean asked with a small smirk, but there was more hope than smugness in his tone.

Sam shook him gently by the collar, making Dean’s head wobble, and he ducked his face down and touched his forehead contritely to Sam’s arm.

“I’m not rethinking it,” Sam answered him, “but you’re certainly making me sweat for it. God, Dean. Do you have any idea..?” He trailed off and forced Dean’s head up, then leaned down and pressed their mouths together in a forceful kiss.

“I might never let you use a knife and fork again,” he growled when he finally released Dean’s lips.

Dean just shrugged slightly and gave a small, sweet smile to show that he was fine with whatever Sam wanted.

Sam’s eyes narrowed slightly and his nostrils flared as he took a steadying breath.

“I could keep you tied up all day,” he suggested. “On your knees, naked and spread open, ready for me to use at either end.”

Dean’s dick lurched, heartily approving the idea, but in his current position, Sam probably didn’t notice.

“Do you want that?” he went on softly, stroking Dean’s throat inside the collar. “Would that be a good way to spend your birthday?”

“Yeah,” Dean managed to grind out, the spiking flood of arousal stealing his voice, “do anything you - sucking you, getting fucked; s’all good. I just want you, Sammy. I’m yours, you can do what you want to me, you know that.”

“God, Dean,” Sam breathed again, wrecked, and he dragged Dean’s head down into his lap and held him there, stroking his hair, while Dean nuzzled gently into his thigh.

“You shouldn’t…” Sam went on after some moments, sounding choked. “I mean, what you give to me, Dean… It’s amazing, but it's a lot. It’s too much. I could… you’re giving me carte blanche here, and I know you have your safeword but we both know you’ll never actually use it, and… Dean, really? It’s your birthday, but I feel like I’m the one being given - the most precious, terrifying gift, and the responsibility is; I don’t know if I can…”

“It’s okay Sam,” Dean murmured soothingly, turning his head slightly so his voice wouldn’t be muffled by Sam’s leg. “You’d never do anything to hurt me. You couldn’t hurt me,” he said with the emphasis of absolute conviction.

“Dean,” Sam started to protest, but Dean forged on.

“No, Sam,” he insisted, “you really couldn’t. There is nothing you could possibly want to try, no matter how kinky, how out there, which would make me think twice about doing it.”

Sam’s fingers stilled and Dean bit back a sigh of exasperation. This was their biggest problem; Sam was too cautious, not exactly reluctant, but he analysed everything, probing for potential setbacks. He wasn’t a natural Dom, too worried about his brother’s welfare to trust that Dean could manage himself. It was endearing, but annoying; Dean wasn’t made of glass.

“I _know_ you,” Dean tried to explain, “and besides, short of lasting injury - which you’d never consider for a second - what is there you _could_ do? Honestly, after everything… I mean, Hell - the Lizard Queen - monsters never ask Sam, they never second-guess themselves.”

He tilted his head further, twisting around in Sam’s lap to look up into his brother’s open face, where he could see the love and concern shining in his eyes. 

“There’s more ways to hurt someone than with pain,” Sam said doggedly. “I know you think you - you’re determined to do what you think is right, and you’ve decided to follow my orders without question…” like you used to with Dad, Dean heard the unspoken thought, “so you’ll just carry on without thinking of yourself until it’s too late, like you always do, and I do something that ends up pissing us both off.”

Where was this coming from, all of a sudden? Dean wondered. He’d thought they were long past that awkward stage of establishing the guidelines. He sat up, rising to his knees, a little awkward due to his bound hands but able to use Sam’s legs for leverage. Finally he was able to look into Sam’s eyes without more than a slight tilt of his head, and he held his brother’s gaze with the intensity of his own.

“Monsters want to fuck me up,” he said gently, willing Sam to just get it, finally; to stop worrying and just enjoy what Dean wanted him to have. “And my whole life, I’ve had to stand ready to take them on. When we hunt, I have to be ready, collar or no collar.”

Had to push down the fear, the uncertainty; swallow the resentment and the pain and the memories before they overwhelmed his resolve. Had to put all his feelings aside, lock them away in the box of his heart while his brain and body marched on, being all he could be: a soldier, a hunter, a killer. 

Sometimes, often over the course of the years since Dad had died and they had been catapulted into the schemes of Heaven and Hell, he had felt as though it was the only way to keep going. To deny his humanity, the emotions which made him vulnerable, until all he had left were his training and his rage. 

The Mark of Cain had not had to dig very deep to tap that anger, that mindless obstinacy, because he had been practising them his whole life, holding them out before him like a shield - not against the enemy, but against the part of him that protested this life, his actions. 

He couldn’t admit any of that to Sammy though, for so long had not even been able to admit it to himself, so now he only said, “Sam, it’s exhausting. This time, here with you… I need it, man, to recharge; to feel totally safe and free. I put myself in your hands, give you the control, because then I don’t need to think anymore, because I _trust_ you. I’m yours Sam, you own me body and soul; you always have.”

Sam blinked back at him, his eyes so soft and gentle, his hands resting on his knees as he held still and listened.

“I know it’s a lot to put on you,” Dean went on, and swallowed thickly, forcing himself not to look away out of guilt. “Fact is, you’re stronger than me, always have been-” Sam twitched, frowning, but didn’t say anything, and Dean continued. “You’re the one who’ll say no, who can walk away - no, let me finish,” because Sam had opened his mouth, about to protest. When it seemed he would be allowed to speak his mind, Dean resumed. 

“It’s always you who’ll question the right and the wrong of it all, when I keep forging ahead like you just said, because it’s easier to just point and fire. You think things through, you’ve got my back, there’s no question you’d ever abuse my trust; and more often than not you know what’s best for me better than I do. I just… I can’t let myself go, Sammy, unless I put everything in your hands. You let me be myself and wind down and just… stop feeling like a gun that’s held permanently on the trigger.”

He frowned slightly and shuffled on his knees, wondering if he was getting through, wondering what was going through his brother’s head, behind those soulful eyes that radiated so much compassion it made Dean’s chest clench.

“So, I want you to have this, and you can’t fuck it up,” he finished. “You just can’t. Anything you could possibly want is fine, more than fine; if it’s good for you, it’s good for me. You want me to have the best birthday, Sammy? Then just stop asking me if it’s okay. When you’re taking charge, I’m okay. That’s all there is to it. You do whatever takes your freaky fancy and don’t worry that you’re gonna spoil my birthday; seriously, man, knock it off. Only thing that’s spoiling anything is you _over_ thinking things.”

Sam took a deep breath and raised his hands to Dean’s head, cradling it between his palms. Then they slid down, fingertips caressing his cheeks, and hooked into his collar, claiming and anchoring him. 

“Okay,” Sam said, releasing the pent-up breath in a sigh of surrender. “Okay Dean. I get it, I think. At least I - I’ll try.”

Dean’s mouth quirked in a lopsided smile. “You were doing really well, right from when you came into the shower through breakfast,” he noted. “What got you questioning things again?”

Sam’s eyes lowered and his hands clenched momentarily around the collar.

“I got you something…” he trailed off, then looked back into Dean’s face, his expression firming. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he admitted, “and I was pretty sure we were on the same page, but then you… You’re just so open and generous, Dean, and I - it’s a lot to trust myself with, because this is all still pretty new, and sometimes I… I just don’t want to go too far, too fast, you know? Don’t want you thinking…”

He stopped again, looked up this time, over Dean’s head; but he was biting his lip and a flush spread along his cheekbones, and Dean figured he knew what was really bothering his little brother.

“Hell no,” he said forcefully. “Kinky’s good, Sam; I like kinky, bring it on! I won’t judge you, and okay look, I promise; I don’t think it’s gonna happen, but if that freak brain of yours does manage to come up with something I really can’t stomach, I’ll tell you. No point doing things if we both don’t like ‘em, but we won’t find out unless we try, right?”

He grinned at Sam and, slowly, an answering smile broke out across his brother’s lips. “Yeah, okay,” he replied and this time the words sounded genuine, and relieved. 

“So what did you get for me, is it some kind of sex toy?” Dean asked, leering and licking his lips.

Sam cuffed him gently upside the head. “No, you pervert, not a sex toy,” he laughed. “I really shouldn’t worry, should I; you’re the one with the insatiable appetite!” Dean just cocked his head and raised an eyebrow to indicate that’s what he’d been saying all along.

“No,” Sam continued, softer now, and that blush was starting to creep back into his cheeks. He fiddled with Dean’s collar a little, plucking at it and then smoothing his fingers over the leather. “It’s something… it’s better than a sex toy. At least I hope it is. It’s more… look, do you just want to come and open it already, find out for yourself?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Dean grinned, but then, “only wasn’t there something about ogling my butt while I do the dishes, first?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, tapping his finger against the collar while he considered, then decided “No; dishes can wait. You might get me all… distracted again, and then I won’t want to stop. I’ll just put them to soak in the sink for now.”

He stood and cleared the table, then helped Dean to his feet with his hands clasped firmly around his biceps. “You want me to untie you now, or..?” he asked.

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean responded immediately, rolling his shoulders to ease the slight tension. The more restricted his movements around Sam, the better he felt; forcing him to surrender, to give himself utterly into his brother’s care. It was, as he’d tried to explain to Sam, incredibly freeing; exhilarating even, a heady rush. 

The thrill it gave him could be sexual, giving Sam unrestricted access to his body, but it was more than that. The longer he went bound, the more he was able to relax and sink into that cushioned zone of comfortable patience. It was almost like a drug, stronger than the haze of alcohol (which, given his built-up tolerance, wasn’t terribly effective anyway) and better for his health. 

It got to the point, sometimes, where release came as a disappointment, the return of free will stabbing into his gut like treachery. He wanted to be tied all the time, but knew better than to ask; not only was it unfair to Sam, he knew that it would take a toll on his muscles over extended periods, and as a hunter he couldn’t afford to do anything that might damage his reflexes.

Sam smiled at him, checking his expression closely and seeming satisfied with whatever he perceived there. Then he drew Dean in by the collar for a kiss, gently turned him around to face the door, and sent him forwards with a light swat across the ass.

Sam steered him around the map table and into the library with one hand on his elbow. Dean’s eyes cut automatically to the dangling restraints of his stretching rig, but Sam went over to the table instead. There was a box on top of it, unwrapped; plain, smooth wood with some kind of symbol on the lid, maybe large enough to hold a small weapon.

Most years they gave each other little more than a ‘Happy birthday!’ and a token present: books (for Sam), music (for Dean) - a bottle of something, a new knife. Dean got as excited as a five year old every time, no matter what. It wasn’t what was inside the cheap, clumsily wrapped paper that mattered, it was truly the thought that counted; every birthday marked off another year in which his Sammy was alive and not too pissed off with him to mark the occasion. Then he’d get to reinforce the bond on Sam’s birthday, just a week over three months down the line.

He didn’t really know how much these dates meant to his brother, beyond the fact that he always remembered. Today though, and last night too, Sam had been treating it as something special; and now, he seemed unaccountably nervous, which meant that whatever he’d got Dean this time wasn’t just run of the mill. He’d said it wasn’t a sex toy, but what else could have made him so unsure of the gift’s acceptance? He should know Dean well enough by now to realise he didn’t have to have bought him a present at all. Dean was very happy already with the awesome sex.

Sam gestured to Dean to turn around and unfastened the wrist cuff. Then he squeezed Dean’s shoulder and said, “Sit down”. He waited until Dean had complied before pulling out his own chair and sitting next to his brother.

Dean stared at the box. He didn’t recognise the shape burned into the wood, which could be some esoteric symbol or just the logo of whichever company had made the thing inside. He had no idea what it could be. It was clearly something important. His mouth suddenly dry, he turned his head to look to Sam for permission to open the box.

“Go ahead Dean,” Sam smiled softly. “Open it. Happy birthday.”

Dean reached out slowly and raised the lid. Nestled inside on a shaped bed of stiffened velvet was a wide circle of leather. Another collar. Carefully, almost reverently, he lifted it out. 

It was made of thick leather, stiff but flexible like a belt, cushioned on the reverse with some sort of plush lining. It was a green so dark it would look black in all but the brightest lighting. The upper surface was stencilled with a running design that looked something like stylised leaves or flames. It was also embossed, with a slanting, silver script that ran along the whole length of the collar in two slender lines. 

To any casual observer, the tiny letters would be indecipherable; it would simply look like a band of decorative detail. To read it, even if it wasn’t obscured by his clothes, you would have to get right up close and personal to Dean; and also to understand Latin.

_DEAN WINCHESTER : SALVATOR : VENATOR FORTISSIMI : FIDISSIMUM HOMINUM_   
_EGO : SAM WINCHESTER : HIC VIR INCREDIBILI TENEO ET AMO_

Dean stroked one fingertip along the gleaming trail of letters, squinting as he tried to decipher their meaning.

“Dean Winchester,” he said softly, then haltingly he tried to translate. “Saviour. That’s man - strong man? And ‘I’ - that’s you, your name; this… something incredible, something and - ammo? No that can’t be right. Sorry Sammy, my Latin’s pretty limited to busting demonic ass, you’re gonna have to help me out here,” and he grinned as he turned to his brother.

Sam’s eyes were riveted to his and so gentle they took Dean’s breath away. All Sam’s feelings seemed to be laid bare in that vulnerable gaze, gathered to the surface and offered like a sacrifice in open, trembling palms.

“It says ‘Dean Winchester,’ Sam translated softly, his voice vibrating with emotion. “Saviour; bravest hunter; most loyal of men. I, Sam Winchester, own and love this incredible man.” 

Dean stared at him for several heartbeats, not quite daring to breathe, then looked back down at the collar. He swallowed, and ran his hands over the cool, smooth surface, drawing in the rich scent of new leather. The circling words had been laid out so that once the collar was fastened about his neck, the phrases which would show most clearly at his throat would be ‘venator fortissimi’ and ‘vir incredibili’.

The level of consideration which had gone into the collar’s design was clear. It stated baldly, for anyone to read, that he was Sam’s; that his brother owned him. Owned, and loved. But most people they encountered would not have the slightest idea what it said, and of those who might - hunters; clergy; academic consultants; witches and demons; angels - the most they would get to read was compliments. Maybe a touch bragging, but hey, if anyone called him on it he could direct them to Sam with an eye roll and a deprecating smile. “Yeah, it was a gift from my little brother. He idolises me, what can I say?”

The collar was at once a statement and a secret: his brother’s claim hidden right out in the open. Wearing a collar at all was unusual, of course, but he was used to that; and with the decorative detail, this one looked more like a piece of jewellery than a functional device. People might well shrug it off as a fashion statement, or something to cover an old injury; or as some slight protection against blade or fang. That had already been assumed by other hunters he’d encountered, in his current collar.

“Is it okay?” Sam asked, hesitantly. “I customised it online. They had a range of templates; I thought that was the most masculine looking, but still decorative, you know? They didn’t have an option to set your own symbols, otherwise I’d have chosen something more badass, maybe a couple of crossed guns; but I guess bondage doesn’t normally run to stuff like that and-”

“Sam,” Dean stopped the rush of mild apology, “it’s beautiful.”

His eyes tingling slightly with welling tears, he turned to Sam - his brother, his lover and his gentle Dom - and placed his hands over the larger ones which lay upon the table, fingers spread and trembling infinitesimally.

“Yeah?” Sam breathed, mouth hitching into a hopeful smile. “You like it?”

“I love it,” Dean said, emphatically. “It’s so splendid, I should probably keep it for special occasions, or at least just when we’re safe inside the bunker, but… I want to wear it everywhere, can I do that? Please?”

Sam’s smile deepened and he shifted his hands, turning them up to clasp Dean’s, the thumbs rubbing gently over his knuckles.

“Of course,” he answered, “that’s what I designed it for. So people can see, although they probably won’t realise exactly what it is they are seeing. I mean there’s no point inviting trouble. But, I wanted…” 

He paused, swallowing and his grip on Dean’s hands tightened before he went on, “I didn’t want to hide it, you know? This, what we - what you’ve given to me. I’m proud of you Dean, you are an amazing man, and I know why you wear the collar all the time. So I wanted it to reflect that, to show that I - that it means as much to me, too.”

He laughed a little, suddenly. “And here, this bit, teneo?” He let go of one of Dean’s hands and reached out to caress the word. “It has a few translations, to hold, to grasp; to possess, maintain - and restrain. They all seemed pretty appropriate. But that line on its own, ‘teneo et amo’, if anyone did read it… Well, it also means ‘reach out and love’. So it’s not just a declaration of bondage, you can explain it another way - if you ever needed to.”

Dean sat still, overwhelmed by the implications. Sam had never taken the collar lightly, but he had always been a half-hearted Dom. Dean knew he was only doing it for his sake, because he understood how much Dean needed it, and not out of some deep-seated, kinky desire of his own to collar and control his own brother. 

But this; as near a public declaration of intent as they could risk, given their widely known kinship; proved that Sam was finally ready to accept and embrace his role. It was a reaffirmation of the first time Sam had agreed to place a collar around his brother’s neck, a binding circle that stated his vows. Tantamount to a wedding ring - in all the ways that counted. 

Briefly, Dean wondered how Amara would take the news. The Darkness also had a claim on him, but her pull was the complete opposite of Sam’s. She promised an end to suffering, but it was empty and meaningless - the promise of eternal life without substance or emotion. His brother offered home and comfort; warmth, security, and above all, unconditional affection. He could only hope that his bond to Sam would keep him tethered, hold him back from falling into that pulsing, beckoning void when it came time for him to confront her. Would this be any more of a threat to her than his love for his brother had always been?

“Sammy,” he croaked, his throat tight, “do you really mean this? Is it really… what I think it means?”

“Means I love you,” Sam answered gently. “Means you’re mine, and I’m ready to proclaim it, instead of pretending like it’s nothing personal, all on you. Means we’re together, in this - in hunting - everything. I know I used to want out, Dean, but that was a long time ago and… things change. I want you to know that I’m with you, one hundred per cent; this is my life now, and… sure, there are some things I wish could have gone differently, but I don’t regret a moment that’s spent by your side.”

Dean looked down to hide the tears that were threatening to spill over his cheeks; Sam still only held one of his hands, but if he reached up with the other to wipe away the wetness, it would be obvious. He hated getting so emotional, but it meant so damn much; did Sam even realise? He must do. He’d known just the right things to say, and to give…

Suddenly, Dean laughed. “Sammy, you got a track record of getting me things to go around my neck.” 

He felt a pang; he missed his old amulet, and had wished many times over the years that he hadn’t thrown it away, but what was done was done. For a long time now, he’d had Sam’s collar to replace it, and this new one was given with all the emotional sincerity of that childhood gift - with the added bonus that it had been made exclusively for him and had no other possible recipient or purpose.

“Yeah well, what can I say,” Sam deadpanned. “Guess it’s my way of deflecting a desire to strangle you every time you test my patience.” He smirked as Dean’s eyes flew wide to stare at him. “You want me to put it on you?” he added, softly.

“Please,” Dean answered, just as quietly, and his heart started fluttering like a bird in a cage.

“Then kneel,” Sam ordered, and Dean pushed his chair back so hard it almost overturned, and dropped to the floor as though punched, bowing his head so that he was almost kissing Sam’s knees.

Sam reached down and unfastened the worn, plain pet collar, the first time he had worked the buckle in months. He caressed the back of Dean’s neck, then reached for the brand new collar and placed it around his throat. As he fastened it, he said a few words in a tone of instruction; more for the ritual of the thing, Dean thought, than because he believed Dean needed reminding.

“This never comes off,” Sam told him, “except by my hand. We should probably take it off when you shower, because even with waterproofing, the quality of the leather won’t last. You’ll wear it to signify that you’re mine; that I own you, and you should obey me in everything.” He gave the collar a little shake at this point for emphasis; Dean’s record in that department wasn’t perfect, but then again, considering their lives, he didn’t think he’d done too badly overall. 

“And if I think you’re not taking it seriously, or you decide you’ve had enough of being Sam Winchester’s pet, then it comes off and we go back to normal, no hard feelings. But if that happens, you’ll have a lot of begging and proving yourself to do before it ever goes back on again. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely,” Dean answered immediately. “It’s not coming off. I’ll be good for you, Sammy. I promise.”

“Good boy,” Sam said, and slid his fingers inside the stiff circle of leather to raise Dean’s head for a kiss. It felt a little strange, heavier and more solid than the old collar; perfectly comfortable, but he wasn’t going to forget he was wearing it any time soon, and Dean let out a little sigh of satisfaction as their mouths met and his eyes slid closed.

“All right,” Sam smiled as he let Dean go to look up at him expectantly. He tapped the side of the collar. “That looks really good on you,” he said. “Fits well; is it comfortable?”

“It’s good,” Dean responded happily. “Are we keeping the old one?”

“Might as well, for a while,” Sam said, “just in case. But it can go in my bedside drawer, we don’t need it. Now, what do you want to do next, birthday boy? The rig’s right there, if you want to do some exercises; or we could take it back to the bedroom. But don’t forget I’m planning on testing you for the rest of the day, so don’t get too excited; you’re in it for the long haul.”

Dean glanced over at the rig, but the thought of the unwashed dishes in the kitchen was making him jumpy; and the thought of how Sam had said he might tackle them.

“You said something earlier about washing up, naked..?” he suggested, trying to keep his voice as respectful as possible; if Sam thought he was trying to tempt him, he was liable to change his mind.

Sam chuckled. “I did,” he agreed, “and if that’s what you’re in the mood for, after that how about cleaning the car?”

Somehow, Sam’s tone made such a mundane task sound anything but innocent, and a very clear image entered Dean’s mind of him pressing up against his Baby’s shining paintwork, legs straddled and dripping with foam as Sam commandeered the sponge and applied it to him… He swallowed, biting back an appreciative moan.

“Easy there tiger,” Sam laughed. “It’s early, we’ve got plenty of time. We can do all those things, and more! Maybe find something interesting in every room in the bunker, what do you say?”

“Lead on, Sammy,” he replied, “just tell me where you want me.” This was shaping up to be the best birthday of his whole damn life.


End file.
